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Raffaele was frowning. ‘But—’ he began.
‘No buts, no arguments!’ Stam ranted angrily down the phone. ‘My granddaughter spent the night with you and the date of the wedding is now fixed. I warned you. That dossier on your sister goes to the press this weekend unless you can confirm that date!’
Within minutes, in the bedroom next door, Vivi was enjoying a similar rude awakening. ‘Grandad?’ she said sleepily, barely half awake. ‘It’s very early to be phoning.’
‘You spent the night with Mancini. You’re getting married to him on the twenty-fifth of this month and there won’t be any more arguments on that score! Is that understood?’
Her face scarlet, Vivi was now sitting bolt upright in the bed. ‘How do you know where I spent the night?’ she gasped.
‘Your security team,’ Stam delivered curtly. ‘There will be no further discussion about this matter.’
Vivi had never got dressed in such haste and never before with such distaste for the garments she was forced to put back on. The outfit, which had seemed such a good idea the night before, now filled her with embarrassment. Had Raffaele read the short skirt and the rest of it as some sort of a come-on? It didn’t really matter now though, did it? She had lost control, she had failed to call a halt, she had defied her own intelligence to continue that monumental mistake. She couldn’t blame alcohol, she couldn’t blame Raffaele, who was probably as programmed to take advantage of a willing woman as any other man; no, she could only blame herself. It seemed a fitting punishment that she now had to slip out of the house and take the walk of shame in those hateful Perspex heels! But the worst punishment of all for Vivi was the utterly mortifying knowledge that her grandfather was also aware that she had spent the night with Raffaele.
Vivi was halfway down the stairs, picking her way as quietly as she could, when Raffaele emerged without warning from a doorway. Her expressive face flamed, her eyes cloaking, soft mouth compressing into a tense line. Even in that single flaring glance she noticed that he looked amazing, all sleek and dark and spectacular in a dark grey suit, cut to enhance his lean, powerful build and accentuate his superb carriage. He emanated rock-solid assurance and it set her teeth on edge because she was feeling ratty and hunted and insecure.
‘Did you get a wake-up call too?’ Raffaele enquired softly.
‘I’m in a bit of a hurry, actually, so I won’t keep you.’
‘It’s a Saturday morning, so I can’t imagine why you should be in a rush. Join me for breakfast,’ he told her, striding back into the dining room.
Vivi paused in the doorway. ‘Er...thanks, but that doesn’t suit. If I could just get my coat...’
‘I’ll drop you home after breakfast.’
And there it was again, that habit of Raffaele’s that made Vivi want to tear her hair out and scream. He didn’t listen to what he didn’t want to hear, he just moved on past it to repeat his own wishes.
‘I said no, thanks,’ Vivi reminded him thinly.
In emphasis, Raffaele yanked out a dining chair for her and studied her expectantly. ‘Be reasonable, cara.’
And without warning, Vivi was made to feel like a child caught in the act of trying to run away to escape a punishment, and that analogy was too humiliating to be endured. Tensing even more, she moved forward on wooden legs and settled stiffly into the seat. ‘I have nothing more to say to you.’
‘Non importa.... I have plenty to say to you,’ Raffaele countered, smooth as silk, as his butler appeared at her elbow to offer her a choice of tea, coffee or hot chocolate.
In need of something sweet to bolster her, Vivi chose hot chocolate and reached for toast.
‘According to your grandfather, our wedding will be taking place on the twenty-fifth,’ Raffaele informed her.
‘But I don’t listen to his commands when they conflict with what I want,’ she parried stubbornly as she buttered her toast, struggling not to think about what her refusal to comply might cost her foster parents.
Winnie had bitten the bullet and married Eros even though it was the last thing she had wanted at the time. Why should she rate her pride higher than Winnie had? Why couldn’t she play her part and fall into line for the sake of peace, as Winnie had? Perhaps it was because when she was young she had too often found herself bereft of choice. And now when she was told to do something she didn’t agree with she wanted to fight against it every step of the way.
‘And if I threaten to make redundancies at Hacketts Tech? And I should be frank, redundancies are required there. The business is overstaffed,’ he informed her coolly.
‘You’re threatening me...’
‘I’m threatening you,’ Raffaele agreed with a harsh edge to his accented drawl, his brilliant dark eyes veiled by a thick screen of lashes.
Vivi thought frantically about John and Liz and their need for a secure home where they could continue looking after troubled adolescents and helping them into adulthood. Yes, she certainly owed them a debt for the healing regime they had given her because being constantly angry, distrustful and fearful, as she had once been, only made the world an even more scary place. And what about her work colleagues? People had mortgages and rent to pay, loans to keep up, holidays booked, children to raise. The sudden loss of stable employment could devastate lives and that stress could surely destroy relationships as well. Raffaele was putting enormous power into her hands, power she hated him for giving her because to her mind his power to threaten redundancies deprived her of the power to say no to the wedding he and her grandfather were determined to stage.
‘So, if I was to say yes...what would happen?’ she pressed in a driven surge. ‘No redundancies?’
‘I could put a stay on them for the immediate future.’
‘A permanent stay,’ Vivi bargained, barely believing that she was finally agreeing to the fake wedding she had long resisted.
‘I can’t agree to permanent,’ Raffaele countered levelly. ‘The bottom line must be business and profit.’
‘Not for me, it’s not. For me, it’s people!’ Vivi argued with spirit.
‘I could put a stay on redundancies for the first year,’ Raffaele proffered.
‘Three years!’ Vivi suggested.
Raffaele frowned. ‘Too long. In that time, Hacketts Tech could go under,’ he warned her, filling her with consternation for she had not previously appreciated that the firm could already be struggling for surviv
al.
‘Eighteen months, then...and the staff get plenty of warning of what’s coming,’ she bargained in desperation.
Raffaele angled back in his chair, brilliant dark eyes alight as a starry night sky. ‘Eighteen months with full disclosure,’ he negotiated. ‘And on the twenty-fifth we get married.’
‘Fake married,’ Vivi reminded him drily.
‘Unless you turn out to be pregnant, in which case all bets will be off,’ Raffaele murmured curtly. ‘Because that development would be a game-changer.’
‘That would be a nightmare,’ Vivi contradicted with a tiny lurch of fear because the prospect of pregnancy and motherhood unnerved her. ‘But it’s not likely to happen, is it?’
Raffaele lifted and dropped a shoulder with the lithe, fluid elegance that was so much a part of him. ‘I wouldn’t like to call it. It’s not a situation I’ve been in before. How soon will you know?’
Her face warming, Vivi engaged in some fast calculations and unselfconsciously counted on her fingers beneath Raffaele’s increasingly incredulous scrutiny, for maths had never been one of Vivi’s strengths. ‘In about ten days.’
‘We’ll visit a doctor together. I’ll arrange it and that way we’ll know exactly where we stand,’ Raffaele decreed.
‘That’s not necessary. There are tests that can be done at home.’
‘When it comes to accurate results I prefer to trust the medical profession,’ Raffaele overruled without hesitation.
Vivi breathed in so deep to contain her temper that she marvelled that she didn’t take flight like a balloon. She gritted her teeth and focused on her toast, even though it was turning to sawdust inside her dry mouth. How had she contrived to become intimate with a man who enraged her to such a degree? Every time he laid down the letter of the law according to Raffaele she wanted to punch him. Had people always listened respectfully to his commands and done as he told them to do? Had no living person ever contrived to punch a hole in that armour of arrogance he wore? Why did he always believe he was right?
